


Herschel

by fightforyourwrite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caretaking, Cemetery, Dogs, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightforyourwrite/pseuds/fightforyourwrite
Summary: An old man, a young woman, and a dog named Herschel all walk into a graveyard.





	Herschel

**Author's Note:**

> When I first wrote this, I wanted it to be the first part of a much bigger fic. But now that I think of it, I don't have the spare time to be able to focus on writing. 
> 
> I'm a full-time student at the moment, so even if I did squish fic-writing time into my schedule, the resulting product would not be good at all. 
> 
> But in the meantime, I can at least publish stories as one shots. Hope you enjoy it.

Levi Ackerman did not hate his job, but he could not see himself ever loving it in the future. 

When he was younger, he often wondered what he would end up doing in the next few decades. Mowing grass between tombstones and digging holes for burials was not a possibility that ever slipped into his mind. 

But somehow, Levi found himself on an early bus every morning, all so he could get to the cemetery on the edge of the town by 8AM.

His profession was nothing near glamourous, considering that his jeans were always covered in dirt and his shirts were never the shade he bought them in. 

Whenever people asked him what he did for a living, Levi would try to find a reason to avoid the question and change the topic. 

Also, because every single time he actually did answer the question, Levi responded with phrases like  _ ‘cleaning shit off gravestones’  _ or _ ‘stopping brats from grave rubbing.’  _

Phrases like that usually raised more questions than answered them. 

Because of those particular instances, Levi could never say that he was a social butterfly.

Levi would start his mornings in the cemetery chasing off any lurking geese from the night before, usually with a pair of trash can lids or a broom. Whichever item was closest to him at the time. He preferred the trash can lids because doing so with a broom made him feel too much like an old man off his rocker. 

Come the completion of morning tasks, Levi would see if any funeral home sent a burial notice as he ate lunch near the tool shack in the middle of the cemetery. 

Sometimes Levi wondered what other occupations would let their employees eat lunch near a bunch of dirty hoes and rakes and shovels. 

By the afternoon, Levi found himself near the graveyard’s north end. He raked leaves from under a tree, right next to a grave of a woman who kicked the bucket thirty-three years ago. 

Levi had not memorized any names of the graves he saw. He didn’t think it would be healthy for him. Besides, there were dozens of graves inside the cemetery and he had better things to do than to learn the names of people he did not know. 

Levi pushed the pile of leaves into a garbage bag, making sure that not a single leaf fell out before he tied it closed. 

He grumbled as he knotted off the open end of the bag. Doing small, intricate tasks with work gloves on was also a cumbersome feat. 

Levi muttered _ ‘fuck it’ _ before pulling his gloves off and tossing them aside. With his bare hands, it was easier to tie the damn bag shut.

However, when the bag was sealed, Levi soon realized that a fumbly trash bag would become the least of his worries.

He turned around to see where he tossed his gloves, only to be greeted with a creature he hadn’t ever seen in the cemetery before. 

It was a dog, a rather sizeable dog with a beige coat and beady brown eyes.

It had one of his work gloves in his mouth.

Levi raised an eyebrow. He was used to geese, crows, and even the occasional stray cat, but dogs were a whole different thing to him. 

For one thing, Levi was quite short for a man in his thirties, and he had been tackled by enough dogs in the past to understand what they were capable of doing to such a small person. 

But to be fair, this dog seemed more like a Labrador Retriever and less like a German Shepherd trained to attack human beings. 

Lucky for Levi, the yellow brat in front of him didn’t seem like it was in the mood to fight, but rather, to play.

However, the dog looked like it was smart. Its beady eyes stared at Levi. It may have had a glove in its greedy jaws, but Levi could swear that it was smirking at him. 

Sucking in a breath, Levi moved forward in small steps. 

“Very funny, mutt,” he muttered lowly. “Give it back.” 

The words seemed to fly right over the dog’s head, seeing as after Levi said them, the brat took off in the opposite direction at a shockingly breakneck speed. It shot through the yard and weaved through the gravestones like a furry, flea-infested bullet. 

Levi let out a groan that strained his throat. He ran after the dog once realizing that if he did not, he probably would never see his glove ever again. 

“GET BACK HERE, YOU SHIT!” Levi yelled, running as fast as he could in his work boots. “THAT’S MY FUCKING GLOVE!”

The dog finally stopped when it came across a person kneeling at a grave. It sat down once it came by the side of who could only be assumed to be his master. When it got to the ground, the person at the grave turned their head and scratched the Lab’s ears. 

Levi grumbled and ran towards the brat and its master. 

When he got into close enough, he slowed into a jog and yelled out.

“HEY! GIVE ME BACK MY GLOVE!”

The person at the grave turned to Levi and stood up straight. She was a young woman, as far as Levi could tell, and it was clear that she was in the process of mourning a loved one. 

For a moment, he wondered if getting his glove back was worth bothering her for. Most people mourning their loved ones didn’t wish to be disturbed by the cemetery caretaker. 

“What’s going on?” the young woman asked, petting her dog on the hand.

Levi finally made it close enough to stop running. He paused for a second to catch his breath after his brief sprint. 

“That dog of yours stole my fucking glove,” Levi explained simply, pointing a finger accusatively. “I’ve got a shift to cover and I’d like it back, thank you very much.” 

The woman looked at her dog. Leaning down, grabbed the glove and tugged lightly. 

“Herschel, let go.” 

When the aforementioned Herschel released the glove from its greedy jaws, the young woman stood up straight and walked to Levi. “Sorry about that. Herschel likes to give me things he thinks I need. Even if he has to steal them.”

Levi nodded sternly as he took his glove back. “Good to know.” He looked at the glove, groaning lowly at the amount of slobber that was on it. 

He muttered a curse word before wiping it off with a rag from his pocket. 

“Who names a dog Herschel?” Levi asked, tucking the glove into his shirt pocket. 

The young woman shrugged, pushing a strand of strawberry blonde hair out of her face. “Don’t know. Guess the same man who decided to name his daughter Petra?”  

Levi wasn’t sure if her statement was either a joke or a sarcastic retort. Before he could think about it longer, the evidently named Petra changed the subject.

“Do you work here?” she asked, raking her fingers through her hair. 

“No, I just love scraping bird shit off gravestones so much, I do it for free.” 

Petra scoffed, seemingly amused by his blunt remark. 

“Good to know.” 

She directed her hazel eyes down to Herschel, who was wagging his tail cheerfully, then back to the grave. Clearly, only one of the duo could acknowledge the somber nature of the situation. 

“Listen. My father was buried here last year and the stone’s already in bad condition,” Petra explained as clearly as she could.

She turned around to look at the grave, pointing at some of the scum near the edges. “Is that water damage, or something else?”

Levi shook his head, “It’s geese shit. Or crow’s. Either way, it’s been getting corrosive. It’s been damaging other graves, not just your old man’s.”

When he walked to the gravestone, he couldn’t help but read the name engraved in blocky letters.

**_Simon Selig Ral_ **

**_Devoted Father. Loving Husband._ **

**_1962 - 2016_ **

Levi could not pin the name to the face of someone he had buried, considering that he never bothered remembering who was who at all. Even without making it a habit to recall, he was quite sure that he had not been the one to dig the grave for a Simon Ral. 

If he did, there was likely a chance that he would have recognized Petra from the funeral. But yet, he looked at the woman close to him and noted that he had never seen someone like her before in his life. 

With the rag from his pocket, Levi wiped some of the scum from the edge of Simon’s gravestone and grimaced. 

“Disgusting,” he mumbled. 

He put his rag away back into his pocket, but seconds after, he felt something warm and wet licking his hand. 

He glanced down to see Herschel the Labrador Retriever licking his hand. Panicked, Levi jolted his fingers away from the dog as quickly as he could. 

“Fuck!” He shot a glare to the dog, “Is that thing toilet trained? Because I have my hands full enough cleaning bird shit off these graves.” 

“Herschel’s trained,” Petra answer simply, scratching the retriever behind his ears. “He’s also very affectionate.” 

“I noticed,” Levi said. He wiped his hand off on his jeans. 

“Not a dog person?” Petra inquired curiously.

“I’m not a  _ person _ person,” Levi answered. “If you can’t tell, most of the people I work with are dead.”

Herschel tried to lick him again, causing the caretaker to shuffle sideways awkwardly. When the mutt tried moved towards him and tried another attempt at licking Levi’s hand, the caretaker stepped back even more. 

Clearly, the mutt had some sort of interest in him, something Levi was not so sure how he felt about. 

Annoyed, he looked at Petra, curious as to why she had not done anything about the dog that was apparently well trained and obedient. 

For some odd reason, Petra was staring at him. She seemed confused for the most part, as if she had not expected to see someone like him that day. 

It was likely that she had not been expecting him. Most people in the graveyard went in without thinking they would interact with the laughably short caretaker. 

“What?” Levi asked, both confused and mildly upset. “Do you take joy in your dog’s obsession with me?” 

Petra shook her head, “No, not at all. I’m just surprised that you’re the caretaker here.” 

Levi raised an eyebrow, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Aren’t cemetery caretakers supposed to be bumbling old men in news caps? You know, guys carrying around lanterns and stuff?” Petra wondered. She reached over and grabbed Herschel by the harness, pulling the lab back towards her.  

Levi shrugged his shoulders, “Well, you got the old part right.” He was pushing thirty-five at the moment, even though he looked like he was in his late-twenties at the oldest. “Hate to disappoint you though, but no one uses lanterns anymore. It’s the 21st century.” 

“You don’t look that old,” Petra remarked, looking Levi up and down. 

Subtly, Levi tried to wipe some of the dirt off his jeans and shirt. It was a reaction he often had whenever he realized that people were looking at him. Staying clean in his profession was a pipe dream, but it did not mean that he had to spend  _ every _ moment of every day looking like a slob.

“I get that a lot,” Levi continued. “When you’re barely five feet tall, people tend to doubt your age.”

“I’m barely five feet too,” Petra mentioned. She was just a little bit shorter than Levi. “Can you guess how old I am?” 

Levi hummed, crossing his arms and observing her. Frankly, she could pass as a teenager if she wore a pair of sneakers and not a pair of penny loafers. 

The only people he knew who wore penny loafers were sixty-year-old women or librarians with no love lives. 

The detail put Petra’s supposed age up in the air even more, as opposed to helping him guess.

“Twenty-five?” Levi tried. 

Petra smirked and wagged a finger at him, “Twenty- _ four _ , actually.”

“Seriously?” Levi questioned, not even paying attention to how close his guess was. 

“It’s in the genes,” Petra confirmed somewhat smugly. “I just hope I don’t look like a raisin by the time I’m your age.” 

“That’s just about ten years off,” Levi calculated. “Ten years is a lot of time to get fucked up.” 

“So you’re thirty-four?” Petra realized. She looked at him like he was some sort of miracle from another world. “Geez, what do you eat to look that way?” 

“I have my methods,” Levi claimed, glancing to her then back to Herschel. The mutt seemed to be calmer now, as he was laying down near Petra’s feet.

After a beat, Petra grabbed her phone to check something. She grimaced at the screen before slipping the device back into her pocket. 

“I have to go right now,” Petra announced. “I don’t really need too much for my dad’s grave, but do you think you can take care of the corrosive shit problem?” 

Levi shrugged, “I have to anyway. It’s my job.” 

“Good to know,” she agreed. “And your name is?” 

“Levi,” he introduced. “If you need any special requests done, just call the cemetery number on the sign.” He reached out and pointed to a sign sticking out of the grass. It was better if people called that number then find him personally. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Petra agreed. She reached over to him and shook his hand, something Levi didn’t protest to. “I’m Petra, by the way, but I was thinking that you kind of knew that already.” 

“I did,” Levi answered, running a hand through his hair. His undercut needed to be trimmed. “I was aware of it.” When he let go of her hand, he flexed it on instinct, tensing his palm and twitching his fingers subtly. 

“Well, at least you know now…” Petra agreed, mumbling lowly. She adjusted the strap of her bag around her shoulder and started to walk away. “Herschel, let’s go.” 

The young woman walked approximately fourteen steps away before turning back around. 

Levi realized that Herschel was still on the ground, laying down and looking up at him with beady eyes. 

_ What was the mutt’s obsession with him?  _

“Herschel!” Petra called again. She whistled with her fingers and waved at her dog, “Come on, we gotta go.” 

Herschel stood on his four feet. Experimentally, he approached Levi, who did not instantly back away this time. 

However, when Herschel made another attempt to lick Levi’s hand, the caretaker had to pull away yet again. 

“Why do you like to do that?” he asked. “No, seriously. Why?”

Petra whistled again and yelled a little louder, _ “ _ **_HERSCHEL!!!_ ** _ ” _

The Labrador made a whimpering noise before turning around and running to his master. 

With Herschel now by her side, Levi watched silently as Petra walked away. He kept looking at her until she left the cemetery and disappeared back into the world outside.

“Fucking dog…” Levi muttered to himself. 

He started to walk back to where he was before his glove had gotten stolen. He busied himself with work for the rest of the afternoon, going through the tasks of raking more leaves and re-planting flowers around graves.

But Levi didn’t realize that as he carried through his monotonous tasks, the only thing on his mind was strawberry blonde hair, hazel eyes, and an affectionate Labrador Retriever named Herschel. 

**Author's Note:**

> I think giving Petra a dog was the best choice I ever made for a fanfic.


End file.
